


The Crystal

by theonehewaitsfor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Archery, Arranged Marriage, Courtship, F/M, Fluff, Horseback Riding, Romance, Slow Burn, Swordfighting, betrothal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonehewaitsfor/pseuds/theonehewaitsfor
Summary: As a strong-willed young princess, Hermione requests a new tutor from her father, King James, as she approaches her 17th birthday. Unbeknownst to her, she is presented with a dark, rigid and mysterious man who will teach her many things, not just archery and sword fighting. Upon her 17th birthday, Hermione discovers that she is a witch, just as her mother was before her, and as her father is a wizard. Hermione must navigate this new world with the help of her new tutor, struggling to overcome many obstacles and battles along the way.





	1. 1

Hermione sat at the table in her sitting room, watching her tutor drone on and on. It had been over three hours that she had listened to the old hag lecture on the ancient history of her kingdom, a topic the young woman had heard many times. All Hermione wanted to do was escape to the outdoors and get on her horse, Lennox. Although the young lady would soon turn 17, she still enjoyed the simple pleasures a child would. 

“Are you paying attention Your Highness?” Freya, the woman’s tutor, scowled over the book, her index finger stuck in between pages. 

“I could recite that entire text in less than an hour, Freya.” 

“Don’t use that tone with me,” she commands, staring down Hermione. 

“What tone!?” Hermione exclaimed, sitting up straight in the chair, her dress constricting her torso.

“You’re an insolent little brat!” 

Hermione raised the corner of her top lip, her brows furrowed in befuddlement. “Am not!” 

As soon as her tutor closed the dusty book with an angry huff, Hermione leapt to her feet, racing into her bedroom to pull on her riding outfit. The young woman was busy slipping on the pair of knee-high leather boots when she heard footsteps approaching. 

It was a new record. Freya had run off to her father, and now, her father was coming to yell. And yell quite loudly, he could. 

He father burst through the double doors to her private chambers, refusing to give her the courtesy of a knock. “Freya has given me another bad report!” 

Hermione froze, just as she was buttoning the silk vest that wrapped around her torso. “What was it this time? My eyes were to unfocused? My posture poor?” 

Her father slammed the door behind him, marching towards the young woman. Hermione sat erect, crossing one leg over the other. She sat prim and proper, awaiting her scorning. 

“She has quit! Another tutor! Three in two months! This. Must. Stop!” He roared, his hands curled in fists. 

“I’m sorry father. I truly did not mean to disrespect you, or Freya. But all of my tutors educate me on the same things over and over! I’m tired of the history of Valtonia. All I hear is Valtonia came to be in the year of 1433. Father, please. I want a true education!” 

Her father raised an eyebrow, crossing his wide arms over his broad chest. “And what kind of an education would that be?” 

“I want to learn to shoot an arrow and sword fight. I want to learn how to ride even better than I do now. And how to be a queen. I must learn!” 

Her father, King James, sat beside his daughter on the small bench at the end of her bed. He turned to her, taking her small hand in his. 

“Archery and sword fighting are for princes. Not princesses. And you ride plenty well.” 

“Father, as a queen, I will need to have skills other queens do not. And if I am trained in archery and weaponry, I will be a greater asset to the kingdom!” She pleaded, utilizing her large, warm-honey eyes. 

James sighed, drawn into the pools of his sweet daughter’s eyes. He could rarely say no to her, and in his defense, she was right. When the time came for Hermione to take the crown, she would need something the other kingdoms did not. And that would be a queen who could fight. As well, she would soon learn there would be other things that she would be trained in. With her 17th birthday arriving quickly, King James needed to provide his daughter with the proper tutor for her new gifts. 

“Very well, then. I’ll send for a new tutor.” 

“Thank you father! Thank you!” The young woman jumped off of the bench, throwing her arms around her father’s neck. She pecked his bearded cheek, pulling away to turn on her heel. 

“Where are you off to!?” He shouted after her, the princess already through the double doors. 

“To ride Lennox!” Hermione was busy pulling up the trousers over her waist, shoving the oversized linen shirt down into them. As she broke free of the restraints of the castle, she took off into a run towards the stables. 

Gravel crunched beneath her boots, the fresh smell of grass filling her nose. Hermione smiled as she approached the stone building, stopping just inside the archway. Lennox had his head peeking out of the stall, tossing it up and down to welcome his friend. She rubbed her hand over his white muzzle, opening the door to saddle him. 

Against her father, and society’s wishes, the princess rode in trousers, and straddled Lennox, rather than riding side-saddle. Hermione ignored many of the kingdom’s customs, but only the ones that she did not agree with. This happened to be nearly all of them. 

The evening summer breeze blew through the woman’s spiral curls, the rush of air exhilarating. Hermione dug her heels into Lennox even harder, laughing joyfully as they jumped over a downed log and into the creek. After splashing out of it and climbing up a short hill, they arrived at the edge of the lake. It was the lake in which Hermione’s late mother was named after, one that was special to her in more ways than one. 

During her childhood, Hermione was told magical stories about the Lake of Rohana. Mermaids were said to inhabit the lake, among other mythical creatures. The princess always thought back to the story her father had told her one night when she was a little girl. 

When her father was a young prince, he was out hunting and came upon the Lake of Rohana, thirsty and in need of a rest. Just as he approached the water, he heard sounds of laughter and splashing. When he looked up and down the bank, James saw a group of women playing in the water together. The most beautiful, Lady Rohana, stood in a thin smock, splashing with the other girls. Just as James began to walk towards them, all of the women except for Rohana swam away. That was when he realized that the other women were mermaids, and Rohana was a friend of theirs. Legend had it that the mermaids were not kind creatures as the stories were told. When James came to Rohana, he introduced himself and asked her name. It was love at first sight according to her father, and the rest was history. 

Hermione sighed, longing for her mother to be with her at that very moment. Rohana had died from the Dragon Pox when Hermione was but eight years old. In times of confusion and frustration, Hermione came to the lake, sat on the shore, and spoke to her mother. Rohana never responded, though. 

The princess climbed off of her horse and led him down the bank to drink. Hermione felt beads of sweat pour down her forehead, and roll down between her breasts. Just as she lifted her hair to fan at her neck, there was a rustling in the bushes. 

“Who’s there!?” She shouted, taking ahold of Lennox’s reigns. It was times like those in which it would have been nice to have a sword. And know how to use it, of course. 

The silver-haired figure appeared out of the woods onto the stone embankment, leading his strong, shimmering gray horse behind him. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, rolling her eyes. 

“Lord Malfoy, you nearly scared me half to death!”  
The man, the same age as her father, let out a small chuckle and dropped his horse’s reigns as it neared the water. “I do apologize, your highness. But I saw you in the woods, and I was out for a ride myself, so I thought it only right to come and say hello.” 

Hermione began to play with Lennox’s mane, white hair mixed with slim black strands. As she braided it, she watch as Lord Malfoy adjusted his navy blue overcoat, tugging at the white linen sleeves beneath it. 

“It’s always so quiet. I come here to clear my head.” 

“As a young princess must need to do quite often.” 

Hermione flipped her head over to Lord Malfoy, brows wedged down towards her eyes. “You mock me?” 

“Possibly.” Lord Malfoy, standing with his head over the back of his horse, was one of the most handsome men she had ever laid eyes on. His hair, white-blonde from birth, was the only kind in the kingdom. The color of the midday sky, his eyes shocked those who looked into them. They were stunning and hard to ignore, just as Hermione was struggling with at that very moment. 

“I will be your queen some day, so you’d better be careful, My Lord.” The threat served a dual purpose: flirtation and a true warning. When the silver-haired man smirked, Hermione let out a small laugh in response.

“Just remember, even though you will be queen, I will still always be there to protect you.” 

Hermione smiled, her foot placed into the stirrup of her saddle. “I appreciate that, Lord Malfoy. Even if I do not need your protection, it will be a comfort knowing that you are there.” 

Just as she began to swing her leg over, his hands found her waist, lifting her up into the saddle. The young woman nodded shortly at the man beneath her and clicked her tongue, digging her heels into Lennox’s hip. They took off into a run, up and over the small hill and into the woods.


	2. 2

Over the next few weeks,Hermione received two gifts that she was to practice with. One was a bow and arrows, the other a large book. When her father sat them on the table in her sitting room, the princess looked at him in confusion. 

“I know what one is, but why am I receiving a book?” 

“For this reason,” he stated, lifting the book and placing it on top of her unruly curls. 

Hermione squealed, her hands steadying the large object. She wobbled around in her dress, finally taking the book from her head. “Honestly? My posture!?” 

“On your 17th birthday, there will be a ball thrown in your honor. You must practice your posture, as you will be expected to have the best posture of anyone in the room. Oh, and to dance with your excellent posture.” 

“My birthday is in six months, father. Must I start practicing now?” 

Her father nodded in response and swirled his finger in the air, prompting her to lift the book back up and place it on her head. Just as the girl let go, it began to slide off of her curls, hitting the floor with a bang. 

“Practice makes perfect, darling.” 

He closed the door to her sitting room, leaving her alone with the damn book. 

 

That afternoon, in the middle of reading a romance story instead of studying, Hermione heard a knock on her door. Startled, she came to her feet quickly, smoothing her dress. Her lady-in-waiting, Amara, stood anxiously in the doorway. 

“He’s here, Your Highness.” 

The princess turned her head inquisitively, biting her lip. “Who’s here?” 

“Your new tutor.” 

“Very well! Bring her in!” The woman ordered, a bright smile spread on her face. 

“It’s a… It’s a he, Your Highness.” 

“My tutor is a… A male?” The princess’ face fell back into confusement, her mouth slightly agape. 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I guess I’d better receive him.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

“Amara, how many times do I have to tell you? Please stop calling me that. I’d prefer Hermione.” 

Amara was the exact age as Hermione, and this cause the princess discomfort. The only difference between their lives was their bloodline. Hermione did not treat Amara any differently, and she expected her lady-in-waiting to do the same, regardless of her position. 

“Of course. I’m sorry, I keep forgetting.” 

“I know,” Hermione uttered, grinning. “Send him in.” 

After Amara closed the door behind her, Hermione raced to the wall that held the only mirror in the room. She selected a few of her better curls, bringing them forward over her shoulder. The gown, a subtle blush tulle hung off her arms, billowing outwards. At her waist, a corset was tied tightly, hugging her womanly curves in a romantic way. On her feet, she wore her favorite slippers, a simple pair of gold silk. 

There was a rapid knock at the door and Hermione fluttered away to stand in front of the table in the center of the room. “Enter.” She stated in her most princess-like voice. 

A man entered dressed in all black, as if he was in mourning. The young woman’s eyes fell over him, studying him as he approaches her. His hair, greasy and black, was pulled into a tight ponytail and tied with a black ribbon. Dressed in a pair of black trousers tucked neatly into a pair of knee-high black leather boots, Hermione watched as he pulled his matching jacket closed over his dark linen shirt. Below his lapels was a pin, a silver snake curled into itself. His nose, hooked, was not near as ominous as his pitch-black eyes. Hermione could not discern what was pupil or what was iris.

“Your Highness.” The man bowed and then stood straight. He shadowed the young woman as he extended out his arm, his palm facing flat towards her. Hermione quickly placed her palm against his and they nodded. This was the custom in Valtonia, and had been since the day the war was won by Sir Aeryn Vail in 1433. 

“How do you do…” She trailed off, unsure of his name. 

“Master Severus Snape.” 

“Master Snape. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” he muttered, glancing about the room, his arms tucked tightly behind his back. 

Hermione sat at the table, gesturing for him to do the same. He seemed to ignore her, looking about, bending over to glance at the various books on one of the ceiling-to-floor shelves. 

“I’m well-read, sir.” 

“I can see that. But your father told me you were wanting an education other than the subjects that come out of books?” He did not face her when he spoke, but instead tilted a copy out of the shelf with the tip of his index finger. “Is this what you’re wanting?” 

Master Snape gave her his full attention, holding out the open book before her. The pages showed a woman with an arrow in the bow, pulled back past her shoulder. Hermione nodded quickly, a faint smile upon her face. 

“There are other things you need to learn first, before you even begin archery.” 

Hermione’s smile faded, the man snapping the book shut and shoving it back in its spot. He came over, pulling back a chair and planting himself in it. Master Snape intertwined his fingers, resting his prayer-like hands upon the table. The candle between them dripped hot, wet wax onto the silver candlestick below it. 

“Such as?” 

“Such as how to rule your kingdom. When you become queen, which upon your 17th birthday, can happen at any time, you will be on your own. Unless you choose a wise advisor, and even then, you will still be the sole rule of this land.” 

Hermione gulped, a heavy stone settling in the core of her belly. “I’ve been trained in many different things pertaining to my role as a queen. Including diplomacy. I have no doubt that I will be prepared when my father dies years from now.” 

“Your father’s heart is failing, this you know.” 

The truth nearly blinded her. Yes, she knew this. But, it was something she had long been ignoring. All her father had to do was rest, but the role as king was growing far too strenuous on his passionate, yet weak heart. 

“Of course I know. You needn’t remind me, sir.” 

“Very well, then. Besides archery and sword fighting, what do you believe you should also learn?” 

“If I told you I wished to know what it was like to be a commoner, would you object to teaching me?” Hermione was testing the waters, moving from her big toe to her whole foot.  
“It would be an excellent education, but dangerous. If you were found outside the castle without guards, there would be severe consequences from your father. Let alone what the people of your kingdom would do if they recognized you.” 

“My face? It’s hardly recognizable. I look just as every other girl my age does. Put me in common clothes and you wouldn’t be able to tell a difference.” 

From the distance in which they were sitting, Hermione was able to see his pupils, a darker black than the charcoal of iris, had dilated. He shook his head subtly, his eyes falling downward. 

“That is false, Your Highness. You are very different than the commoners in regards to your physical beauty.” 

“But not my internal beauty? Am I not beautiful there?” She asked, her voice rising in pitch. 

“I’ve heard from your last three tutors that you were a little shit that thought you knew it all.”


	3. 3

“Watch your mouth, sir!” Hermione exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Master Snape stood on protocol, his face flat as he stared directly at her. Silence wedged between them uncomfortably. The princess stepped out from in front of her chair, pacing about the room. Beads of sweat had begun to form at her hairline, anger brewing in her. 

“Is it untrue?” 

“Of course it is untrue! My last three tutors were all fools who continued to teach on the same subjects that I’ve learned for ages. They didn’t like me, not because I didn’t respect them, which isn’t true because I did, but because I was threatening to them. My tutors were intimidated by me, which is fair. I’ve always been smart, and this has caused me to be awkward, and sometimes rude. Much like you, I see.” 

“So you are a little shit.” Master Snape had turned himself around in the chair, his eyes following the small-framed princess. 

“I will not warn you again.” 

“You are a little shit who can’t keep a tutor because she’s still a child who wants to ride her horse and play games.” 

Hermione raced across the room, bring her open hand across the man’s face, knocking his hair out of his ponytail. She gasped, her hand stinging as she moved to hold it over her open mouth.   
Hermione watched as he removed a white handkerchief with two letters embroidered on them. He dabbed the blood above his lip, sighing as he sat down in a chair at the table. “As queen, you will hear people speak to you in such a way that you want to hit them. But you cannot. There are many other ways to punish them.” 

“That was a test!?” Hermione cried, shaking her head. 

“All tutors should give tests. At least good ones should. You’ve passed your first successfully.” 

“But I thought a queen shouldn’t hit?” She asked, tilting her head. 

Master Snape folded the handkerchief and stuffed it back into the chest pocket of his coat. He then put one leg over the other knee, smirking. “Yes. That is true. But in my case, I deserved it.” 

“Never call me a child again.” 

The man turned his head to face her, blood dribbling from his nose. “No. Your days of childhood are over.” 

“I haven’t been a child for a long time.” The princess whispered.

 

That night as Hermione was preparing for bed, Amara was softly brushing her hair while they sat on the bed together. It had been a long day being challenged by Master Snape, but Hermione had been determined not to let him push her. And she had successfully managed her first day with him. 

“How horrid was he? He looks horrid, like he would kidnap you, put you in a big pot, and eat you for dinner!” Amara exclaimed, peeking her head around Hermione’s shoulder. The princess laughed, fiddling with the white ribbon on her linen nightgown. 

“It was alright. He seems to be adequate, but we’ll see how he is when I learn to shoot an arrow and sword fight. I’m ready to battle any man that dares challenge me!” Hermione roared, jumping up onto her feet on the plush bed. She began to slash through the air with her invisible sword, marking x’s above Amara’s head. 

The gentle young woman climbed to her feet as well, throwing her head back in laughter. Her hair, black as the night sky, bounced up and down in its braid. Amara extended her arm as well, narrowing her eyes. 

“Just because you are queen does not mean you will win. I am Sir Amaran of the north, only the greatest knight to have ever walked this earth.” 

The girls began to move in a circle, directly opposite of the other, ready to fight with their invisible swords. Hermione struck first, clashing against Sir Amaran’s sword, forged with one of the strongest steels, the Steel of Hannibal. 

“I did not take you for a weakling, Sir Amaran. You are no opponent of mine. I should have given you to the pirates when I had the chance!” 

Amaran struck the second time, the girls biting their lips to hold back their laughter. “The pirates, Your Majesty!? The pirates are my companions, my partners. The pirates would make me their captain, and I would force you to walk the plank!” 

Hermione held her own, taking her sword and battling with Amaran over and over again. They leapt from the bed onto the bench, and finally to the floor. Hermione ducked her head when her opponent slashed horizontally at her head. When she came up, the Queen caught Sir Amaran just beneath his jaw. He lifted his head carefully, dropping his sword and holding his hands at shoulder-height to signify forfeit. 

Just as Hermione was about to end the battle, plunging her sword through her opponents heart, heavy footsteps approached. The girls froze as the double doors to Hermione’s bedroom opened, King James standing in the doorway. 

“Does bedtime mean nothing to you girls?” 

The pair, with heaving chests and sweating brows, stood with their hands folded behind their back. 

“I’m sorry, father.” 

“Half of the castle could hear you! Gods, Hermione. You are far too old to be playing silly games.” 

Hermione felt her cheeks flame, a tingle of embarrassment jumping down her spine. “Yes, father.” 

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” Amara held her gaze at the floor, the custom and her position not allowing her to meet his eyes. 

“Go to bed. Both of you.” 

Both girls, embarrassed at their chasticing, retreated to their beds. Hermione in her own chambers, Amara to the room next to the princess’. Their rooms connected through a narrow door, hidden in the pale blue wallpaper of the wall.

As Hermione laid in bed that night, she couldn’t help but think about what her father had said. Too old to play silly games. Was she really old? In her mind, the princess viewed herself as young woman, nothing more and nothing less. Yes, Hermione had physically been a woman for over two years, after she bled for the first time at the age of 14. However, in her kingdom, it was custom for any girl of noble blood to be considered a woman at the age of 17. The ceremony of lighting the Red Candle, receiving of a crystal, and finally the blessing of her parents all marked a girl’s journey into womanhood.

In a few short months, Hermione would be thrust into adulthood and the possibility that at any moment she could take the crown. There was only one way for this to occur, and Master Snape had mentioned it earlier that day. 

The death of King James. 

Tears formed at the rims of her eyes at the very thought of losing her father. Hermione had been alone for many years, and her father was the only blood she had remaining on the earth. No grandparents, no aunts, nor uncles. When King James died, Hermione would be alone.


	4. 4

“Can I enter archery tournaments?” Hermione asked, an eager smile upon her face. 

Master Snape stood in front of the princess, beneath the shade of the large oak tree, preparing Hermione’s bow. She had waited patiently for all the weeks in between tutors, and now, she was going to learn how to shoot an arrow just like a man. 

“You do realize it’s going to take more than one day to be good at archery, yes?” Master Snape looked up from the small hunting bow as he stared down the length of the bowstring. 

Hermione let out a sigh. “Of course. I don’t expect to be a master at archery in just a few weeks. I know it will take several months for me to become adequately skilled.” 

The princess adjusted the leather arm guard as she reached into the small quiver, holding exactly 12 arrows within itself. As she maneuvered the arrow so that she could study its anatomy, it was soon snatched from her grip. 

“Never play with the arrows like that. They’re not toys.” 

Hermione whipped her head upwards with indignance, a scowl upon her face. “I was not treating it like a toy, Master Snape. I was merely learning its shape and form.” 

“Well, learn its shape and form in the confines of the bow. Here.” He held out the prepared hunting bow for her, and she took it carefully. “Use everything we have been talking about. But no arrow first. You must practice your draw and loose.” 

On Monday, the previous day, the princess was tutored by Master Snape in the sport of archery, different draws, various bows and arrows, and terms. She had learned that loose meant to release the arrow from the bow. It had been the most intriguing lesson Hermione had heard in years. She could hardly sleep that night, excited for Tuesday, as she knew she would actually be holding the bow in her arms.

As she held the bow, she noticed its heaviness, awkward in her grip with the curves and slight imbalance due to the taut bowstring. As the princess stood with her left foot before the other, she stared down the target painted onto the straw back of a small hay bale. Hermione pulled the string backwards, surprised at the tension. As she let it go, it snapped back into place and she yelped, nearly dropping the beautiful piece. 

“Careful!” Snape shouted, reaching his hands out towards her with his black eyes wide in fear.

“I’ve got it!” She replied, ready to practice once again. The woman repeated the motion without the arrow many times, adjusting to the strength required to draw the bowstring backwards so that her right hand was level with the tip of her nose. 

Hours and hours they practiced, just the bow without its counterpart, the arrow. Hermione was growing tired, as it was after noon and the hot summer air was radiating with humidity. Rain would be coming, Hermione knew. Her left ankle always ached days before the rain would come. Just as she was ready to give up and head indoors to have a lie down, Master Snape gave her permission to add the arrow into the equation. Her arms ached from shoulder to fingers, burning with every movement.

“Now, you must always be sure of your target and be careful of its surroundings. In your hands is a powerful weapon capable of taking someone’s life. Use it cautiously, Your Highness.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hermione let out a heavy breath, a salty bead of sweat rolling down the curve of her forehead, through the fence of her eyebrow and into her golden-wheat eye. She blinked it away and focused herself. She drew back the bowstring, using the Mediterranean Draw that Master Snape had taught her earlier in the morning. The princess stared directly at the red circle at the center of the target, ready to hit it on the first try. When she released the arrow, it flew straight and landed, stuck into the top of the hay bale. 

“Good first try. Now, let’s go inside and take a rest.” 

“No! Let me go once more.” 

“We’ve practice enough for one day, Your Highness. The first shot was excellent. We will continue tomorrow.” Master Snape began to take the bow from her and the young woman stepped away. 

“Once more. You may go in if you please. But I want at least one more try for today.” 

“Very well, then.” Master Snape lifted his hands in surrender, backing under the shade of the tree to watch. 

Hermione let out another breath, attempting to clear her head. However, she could only think of how she was going to prove everyone wrong. She wasn’t a little girl. Those days were long past her, and soon, she would become a true woman. And a true woman that could shoot an arrow so well, it made men wet themselves in fear. 

Drawing the arrow back, the leather glove on her hand hot with the damp perspiration beneath it, the princess was ready once again. As she shot the arrow, the bow creaked when it left, racing in a straight line to hit the center of the target. Hermione let her arm fall, the bow at her side. She stood in disbelief, the arrow in the heart of the hay bale. 

“Master Snape?” The princess turned to walk over and glanced up at her tutor, her lips spread apart slightly. Under the shade of the oak tree, the princess enjoyed the relief of the cool breeze. She was suddenly aware of how every part of her was damp with sweat.

“Have you lied to me?” His head swiveled from the hay bale down to the princess in front of him. Hermione scoffed, shaking her head from side to side. 

“How dare you. You believe that I’ve cheated and said I’ve never shot a bow and arrow! I would never do such a thing. You may not know this, but I am no liar, Master Snape.” 

“There is no other explanation for this.” 

“Perhaps I’ll do it again, and then we’ll see who’s right. I can tell you that it was nothing more than beginner’s luck.” 

And then, the princess shot the arrow into the red circle, just beneath her previous arrow. 

“Beginners’ luck?” A suave voice startled Hermione, and she whipped around to see Lord Malfoy standing, his serpent’s head cane in his grip. 

“I believe so, but Master Snape thinks me a liar.” 

“The princess, a liar? Hardly.” Lord Malfoy approached, bowing and placing his palm against Hermione’s gloved hand. 

“I’ve never seen someone hit the target within the first five tries. Let alone two times in a row.” Master Snape turned, his eyes slitted cooly towards Lord Malfoy. 

“I’ve only seen one person do that. And that was you, Severus, if I remember correctly?” 

Hermione stood awkwardly between the men, unsure of who to give her attention to. “I was unaware you two were acquainted.” 

“Lord Malfoy and I studied together under Zathrian.” 

“The Zathrian!?” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes flying to Master Snape. 

“The one and only,” Lord Malfoy purred. “But Severus, unfortunately, was unable to finish and had to leave the school. What was the reason again?” 

“Oh no, why?” Hermione asked, concern resting on top of her furrowed brow. 

Snape wrung his hands, his eyes darting back and forth along the grass at her feet. “Personal reasons, Your Highness.” 

“Ah, that’s right. Personal reasons.” Malfoy noted, smirking. 

“Were you able to complete your education elsewhere when things improved?” Hermione asked. 

Master Snape shook his head, biting the corner of his mouth when he lifted his head to scowl at Malfoy.

“Now, not to dampen all of the fun, but Your Highness, it is time for you to go in from the sun. You’re not wearing a hat and I would be quite upset to see your skin get any sun spots.” Lord Malfoy extended his hand towards the princess.

Hermione lifted her blush-colored linen skirts in one hand, taking Lord Malfoy’s hand with the other. As he lead her away, the princess found that her gaze was being drawn back from Master Snape. He stood, her bow in his hands, his lips pressed into a straight line as he seemed to stare through her.

Snape pivoted complete around so that he could hide himself from her. Hermione could only see that he was clutching the bow with such strength that his knuckles were white. 

 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about knowing Master Snape?” Hermione asked Lord Malfoy as they climbed the stone steps to enter the castle from the gardens. 

“It hadn’t come up in conversation, Your Highness.” 

Hermione removed her hand from his, stopping in his path. “Don’t be insolent, Malfoy. Snape has been with me for over a fortnight and you failed to mention anything about him.You also seemed to be quite rude to him.” 

Lord Malfoy folded his hands over the top of his cane, sighing heavily. His hair was stretched back away from his face and secured at the base of his head, tied with an emerald green ribbon. “Severus and I had a falling out many years ago. He and I both agreed to be cordial around you, as we knew we would both be involved in your life. However, I didn't mean to hurt you. I withheld the information because I found it irrelevant, and I knew eventually Severus would tell you.” 

“Eventually. Eventually he would tell me that he’s one of the best shooters in the kingdom?” Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

“You know I don’t like it when you do that. Neither does your father. It’s very unbecoming of the future queen.” Malfoy’s tone turned sour, like days-old cow’s milk.

“Go on and tattle to my father, then. It won’t change the fact that I’m not happy with you at the moment for being an arse to my tutor. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a lie down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please let me know what you think! I'm looking for feedback, or what direction you think this fic should go!


	5. 5

Hermione raced through the castle until she passed through her sitting room and into her bedroom. She began to fling the pillows off of the bed, drawing back the many layers of silks so that she would be able to rest on top of them. As she reached around her back, pulling at the laces of her stay, she breathed a sigh of relief as she freed herself. The princess slipped off the gown and petticoat, wearing only the shift that was damp and clinging to her body. 

The auburn-haired woman pulled it over her head and tossed it on the bench with the rest of her clothes. She removed the thin hose and boots on her feet. Finally, she was free of anything on her womanly form, and she climbed onto her bed and spread herself out on the crisp linen sheets. 

It seemed like hours later when she awoke to a knock at her door. Sitting erect, the princess clutched the sheet to her body in panic. 

“Who is it?” 

“Amara!” A small voice replied. 

“Come in!” Hermione urged. She came to her feet, dropping the sheets on top of the bed and padded over to the wardrobe full of clothes. 

Amara closed the door behind her quickly upon seeing the princess in the nude. “I heard what happened today.” 

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes as she stepped into the outer layers of her gown. Cream tulle was highlighted over top of intricate black lace, a black bodice cinched at her waist. Two loops of black tulle hung from her shoulders, freckled and pink from the afternoon spent outside. 

“Word travels far too quickly in this castle.” 

“Are you truly surprised, Hermione? No one has ever heard of someone being able to shoot an arrow with such precision on the second try. I suspect your father will be quite impressed when you tell him at dinner this evening.” 

Hermione ran her fingers through her loose curls, tugging on a few stray strands as she thought of what dinner would be like. She plopped down on the bench at the end of her bed, ready to cry. She didn’t want to face her father--she was terrified that he would think she had been practicing behind his back. Just as Master Snape had assumed she was not a novice shooter. 

The princess’s eyes were heavy as her gaze lifted to her dearest friend’s, shining a bright blue. “He’ll believe whatever Master Snape has told him.” 

“What do you mean?” Amara inquired, putting her hands on Hermione’s shoulders to turn her around and weave her fingers through the laces of the corset. 

“Nothing,” Hermione muttered beneath her breath. She removed herself from her chambers, leaving Amara behind as the princess made her way down to the Grand Hall. 

Guards, clad in their armor, opened the doors for her. The Grand Hall was a moderately-sized rectangular room that held a long, narrow table. It was used nightly for dinner, and at least once a month for formal dinners of the state. Hermione had been trained in dining etiquette at the very table, hours spent working her way through eight-course meals.

The princess sat immediately to her father’s left, her position that had been a constant since the death of her mother. In the years to come, she would be at the head of the table. Lord Malfoy, across from her, sat with a smug look upon his face. He had been at the right of the king for as long as Hermione could remember. Her mouth filled with the salty sweetness of her saliva at the thought of her upcoming meal. 

When the doors opened, Hermione turned her head, ready to see the steaming dishes of venison, with roasted cabbage and fresh bread. But, to her surprise, Master Snape entered, approaching the table with his hands tucked behind his back. 

“I apologize for my being late, Your Majesty.” Master Snape bowed and took his place beside Hermione. As he settled in, the princess caught his scent, sandalwood and eucalyptus. She bit down on the corner of her mouth, acutely aware of all of her senses. The touch of his linen shirt against her bare arm brought about gooseflesh on her ivory skin. His breathing, low and heavy, stirred a sensation deep within her belly. 

“No need for an apology. I’ve been waiting to hear the story of my daughter’s success. I hear that you’ve done nothing but brought out the best in her?” 

Hermione’s eyes widened and darted to her father, who watched as the servants brought out various dishes, all concealed within golden metal. The king was served first, taking extra helpings of the lamb and venison. Lamb was the king’s favorite, especially if it included thyme and fresh lemon from the tree in the castle’s courtyard. 

“I have not brought out the best in her, Your Majesty. She,” Severus cleared his throat. “Is talented without my training.” 

“How so?” King James inquired, chewing on the venison as he slid his fork from his mouth. Hermione wished for Amara during that moment, as she had never been embarrassed that the conversation was directed towards her. 

“The princess showed… impeccable sportsmanship today. I had nothing to do with her excellent aim. Absolutely nothing at all.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Hermione’s father set down his fork, and the rest of the table followed, as was the custom. 

“What I’m saying is that your daughter somehow managed to hit the center of the target two time in a row in the first three tries of ever shooting an arrow.” 

Hermione’s cheeks burned with the heat of embarrassment when her father turned his attention to her. His broad hand laid on top of hers and his eyes, the green of mid-summer grass, sparkled as he spoke to her.

“Your mother was an accomplished shooter, Hermione. It appears you’re following in her footsteps. Well done, Master Snape. I’m pleased to see that you’ve aided my daughter in bringing out her natural abilities.” 

The king resumed eating, all except for Hermione. Her stomach churned, disbelief and doubt swirling about her system. While her father was thrilled for her, she was befuddled as to how she was able to shoot the arrows without any formal training whatsoever. Something about the entire situation made her woozy, the tips of her fingers tingling. 

How was it possible that she shared the same talent with her mother? There was no chance--it was meant to be. But, why had her skills become so perfected now? The woman wondered if she had possessed them her entire life, or if something was changing. 

“Next, as per Hermione’s request, is swordsmanship?” The king questioned, his eyes focused on Severus. The princess ate quietly, her head turned away from the conversation. Before, the topic had intrigued her, now anything new was frightening. 

“As well as other things, Your Majesty. I will, with your permission, also be tutoring her highness in various affairs of the state.” 

Hermione perked up, fascinated at the possibility of learning something without needing action. “Perhaps affairs of the state would be more adequate as of now. Swordsmanship can wait until we are further along in my other studies.” 

“But you were excited for swordsmanship, were you not?” Lord Malfoy interjected, raising a single eyebrow. 

“Yes,” her father joined in. “You were quite incessant in your wanting to learn sword fighting.” 

Hermione swallowed a sip of wine, sitting the goblet back down on the table before clearing her tight throat. “I’ve realized that my birthday is approaching quickly, and I need to be more well-rounded as a queen.” 

“Where is all of this coming from? Where’s my little girl gone?” The king pressed, sitting down his fork. 

“I don’t know, father.” She wanted him to stop talking about it and let dinner proceed.

“It has to be from somewhere. Has something happened?” 

At this, Hermione stood up from the table, her hands clenched into fists. Before her eyes, the entire table was flipped over and the chairs, containing the guests, were shoved against the wall. She had let out a harsh scream, shouting at her father. 

“Nothing’s wrong!” 

The room fell silent, Lucius, Severus and King James staring at the princess. Hermione held her palms upward, studying them as they shook. Her lower lip trembled, tears welling in her eyes. 

“Hermione--” Her father started, climbing to his feet. 

“Don’t touch me!” She screamed, taking off into a heavy run through the castle.


End file.
